The Disease

I am diseased.

I have a fatal disorder that is slowly killing me.  My prognosis is guarded.

The symptoms of this disease are many.  The most serious of which is loss of control of bodily parts.

It started with the skipping.  Down halls.  Into conference rooms.

And then it spread to my mouth.  Word hemorrhaging.  Things I wouldn't have said, say, six months ago.

Like when I said, "Oh, good!  We're finally forced to read a book that I actually like!" In a staff meeting.  In front of my boss.  Who I love.

Who used to like me.  Before I became afflicted with Short Timers' Disease.

I've been especially atrocious to my team.  I say things like, "I'm assigning this project to you because (uncontrolled laughter) I don't want to do it!"

And, "We'll do a follow-up analysis in October.  I mean YOU'LL do a follow-up analysis in October."  Followed by unconstrained giggling.

Short Timers' Disease.

I bring brownies to my staff meeting, put my feet up on the table and share my infamous Multicollinearity Rap on YouTube.  I hadn't intended to share.  It just happened.

Only a Short Timer would be so reckless.

Another symptom of STD is Adrenalin rushes.  They manifest themselves as I carry folders and notes to co-workers who will pick up my work.  I explain the importance of each and cross my fingers that they will find the project as intriguing as I did.

I throw away files.  Reports.  Binders.  Stuff.  And more stuff.

I dance my way to the shredding bin.

I carefully decide who gets the good stuff from my office.

Christine wants my Alien Abduction Lamp.  And the binoculars, so she can watch the Canada Goose nest next spring.  (I will miss that.)

Jeff will get my Official Tom Brady Deflategate Whoopie Cushion.  

I'll give Bettye my red blanket so she can survive the air conditioned induced winters that last 365 1/4 days a year at our campus.

Elle will receive my Barbie Doll pens and Cathy will get my "I'm silently correcting your grammar" placard.

Salem gets my fake hand because I know she will use it to scare small children.

Matthew and Max will each receive a pair of my Meat Locker Mitts.  Since neither of them is ever cold they can use the Mitts as cube artwork.

My last day is September 29, and I fear that my STD may worsen by then.  I'm thinking of bringing my unicycle to work, and finally mastering the damn bike by maneuvering through the maze of cubes with my arms outstretched.  

On my last day, when the only items remaining in my office are my Barbie Roller Blades I will probably begin to dance.  On top of said desk.

Security will likely be called to my office.

"Lou.  Get down.  It's time for you to leave," the guard will say.

I will invite the guard to dance with me.  When he says no, I will reluctantly step down, miraculously maintaining my composure.  I'll throw my purse strap over my shoulder and head out to my car, holding my head high.

Until I scream, "Wait!!!!!"

The Security Guard, who by this point will likely be annoyed with me, will say, "What, now?"

As I run back to my office I will shout over my shoulder, "I'm not going anywhere without my Barbie Roller Blades."

I'm Lou and this is my aha moment

The Mutual of Omaha Aha Moment people found me through my blog.  They thought I might have an aha moment I could share in their 34-foot Airstream mobile film studio as part of the 2015 Aha Moment Road tour.  
 

These guys travel the country and film people talking about their aha moments.  How cool!

Me?  Have an aha moment?  Damn right I have!  

I’ve written 375 blog posts.  I’ve got at least 375 aha moments.  

But how could I possibly pick just one?

The Aha Moment people sent me a link to all the aha moments they’ve taped over the past 6 years in their around the country mobile studio.  I decided to take a look.

Oh dear.

They are all sappy.  And inspirational. 

The bullied child.  The woman who lost her child.  The lady who climbed a mountain. 

Did they even read my blog? 

It’s a damn good that I did my research.  Here’s what COULD have happened yesterday.

I step into the mobile studio and meet Jessica, the interviewer.  She asks me to have a seat, get comfortable, and tell her my aha moment.  The camera is running.

“Hi.  I’m Lou and this is my aha moment.  I learned that you can make earrings out of Moose Poop.  Who’da guessed?!!  When I head about those earrings, I said, aha!”

Jessica laughs politely and says,  “Lou, do you have another aha moment you can share?”

And I say, “Sure!  I have 374 other aha moments”

“Go ahead.  Pick one.” 

“Hi.  I’m Lou and this is my aha moment.   A few years ago I was trying to set my husband’s underwear on fire on the driveway with Barbie  roller blades and it didn’t work.  You see I accidentally used Dry Shampoo instead of Hair Spray.   Duh!!!  Now THAT was an aha moment.”

Jessica says, “That’s such a good aha moment.  Can you think of another one?”

“Oh, I know!  When I first got my  Wine Rack Sports Bra and decided to try it out with Diet Coke instead of wine and I filled it up too much and, well, it was really cold on my boobs, and not very comfortable, but the worst part was when I tried to take a sip out of the secret straw it sprayed Diet Coke up my nose.  OMG was that ever an aha moment!”

Jessica smiles and says, “Thank you, Lou.  I think we have enough.” 
 

But thankfully, I DID my research and I had one blog, out of 375, that could possibly work.  The   French Braid that changed my life.

I wouldn’t call it sappy.   Or inspirational.

But Jessica seemed to like it. It was "original".

Now THAT was an aha moment.

Romance in the Science Lab

The long-awaited Rollerblade Barbie Hairspray experiment has been conducted.

And it was done right, this time.  As you may recall, I inadvertently used Dry Hair Shampoo rather than hairspray on my failed attempt of last summer.

Not my finest Nerdling moment.

But I was prepared this time.  I inventoried the materials:

Rave Hairspray: check

Poop Freeze (in case the hairspray didn't work): check

New Rollerblade Barbie Rollerblades: check

Underwear: check

I also had water on hand, just in case the fire got out of control.  (I know, call me an optimistic. But one can hope!)

It took several (22) attempts, but eventually Rollerblade Barbie's rollerblades did ignite the hairsprayed underwear!  

In truth, the flames never got anywhere near the intensity of the fire in the photo above.  

We did not have to call 911.

In fact, I'm not sure it is necessary to use the plural "flames", when describing the outcome of the experiment.  There was really only one flame, and it somewhat resembled a birthday candle found at a mosquito's birthday party.

But it was a flame. So it counted.

We attempted, unsuccessfully, to replicate the experiment this afternoon.  And we learned an important lesson.  

Excessive hairspray ruins Rollerblade Barbie's rollerblades.

But all was not lost during today's experiment.  You see, a budding romance developed on the driveway.  

It turns out that Barbie finds Kevin to be much sexier than Ken. 

Kevin wasn't so sure about Rollerblade Barbie.   

 She would not leave him alone.  

He found her somewhat stalkerish.

Then there was the whole "Kevin, do you want to borrow my rollerblades?" thing.

Obviously, they didn't fit.

But Barbie was OK with that.  

You know what they say about the size of a guy's feet.

The Barbie Doll Experiment

It wasn’t the Barbie doll itself that was unusual. It was what she was wearing on her feet. Rollerblade Barbie was wearing rollerblades that shot out sparks when she skated. 

In fact they had a flint on the bottom that looked remarkably like a cigarette lighter. That’s what prompted me to call Mattel’s 1-800 number in the summer of 1991.

“I'm calling about the Rollerblade Barbie my 3-year old daughter got for her birthday.”

“Yes, is there a problem with her Rollerblade Barbie?”

“Barbie’s rollerblades shoot sparks when she skates.”

“They’re supposed to shoot sparks. She's Rollerblade Barbie.”

“And the rollerblades look like a cigarette lighter.”

“That’s because they have a flint. That's what makes Barbie's rollerblades shoot sparks!”

“Isn't Mattel concerned that Barbie's rollerblades might teach kids how to use lighters?"

“If you would like, I can send you a pair of rollerblades that don’t make sparks.”
Blah-blah-blah.

I decided to take the Barbie rollerblades to work, where over the years they have made an outstanding conversation piece.  Whenever I needed an example of a bad marketing idea, I'd pull out my Barbie rollerblades and get on my nerdling soapbox. “Can you believe they actually SOLD these to children? They look like a damn cigarette lighter!”

Come to turn out, they were also a fire hazard.  About 15 years ago, Dave Barry discovered that if you sprayed men’s underwear with hairspray and rolled Rollerblade Barbie across it, the underwear will ignite. (In fact, he successfully demonstrated this trick on David Letterman.)

I often wondered if my Barbie rollerblades could start a fire.  So I decided to replicate the experiment. 

First I had to find a Barbie.

At one time we had dozens of Barbie’s in my house. Where had they gone? Had they gotten wind of my experiment and made a stealthy escape? I finally found one hidden under about 39 Beanie Babies in the attic.

“Gotcha!”  The rollerblades fit perfectly.

Now all I needed was some underwear.

Dave refused to donate a pair of underwear to the cause. Linda wouldn't cough up any and I'm way to shy to use mine.  So I decided to use an old training bra. 

Linda and I set up our experiment in the driveway.  We sprayed the bra with hairspray and raced Barbie over it, again and again.  Sparks, but no flames.

We tried all kinds of angles and impressive Barbie gymnastic moves.

We decided to pull out all the stops and add our secret ingredient: dryer lint.

Nothing.

I was beginning to feel like Tom Hanks in Cast Away.

Then we completely abandoned Barbie and raced the skates directly on the bra (sans high heeled feet).

Hey! Somebody give me back my skates!", Barbie pouted pathetically.   

"Shut up or you're going to be my next toothpick holder", I threatened.

Gradually the skates lost their spark.  I suspect all those years of my office demonstrations contributed to their demise.

But wait a minute.  I had an epiphany.  Barbie is the antithesis of women's lib.  She would never burn a bra.

Bitch.

So we burned it for her.